


The Farthest Sea

by SpecSeven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game), Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Crossover, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jedi & Sith (Star Wars), Jedi & Sith Relationships (Star Wars), Jedi Hera Syndulla, Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Jedi vs Sith (Star Wars), Light Side Sith Warrior (Star Wars), Mild torture, SWTOR, Sith Academy (Star Wars), Sith Caleb Dume, Sith Kanan Jarrus, Sith Training (Star Wars), Sith Warrior Storyline Spoilers, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars Rebels AU, Star Wars rebels - Freeform, The old Republic - Freeform, Torture, star wars the old republic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpecSeven/pseuds/SpecSeven
Summary: Sith acolyte Caleb Dume has been summoned to the Sith Academy on Korriban ahead of schedule to face his trials by an overseer with ulterior motives, entering a world where the only code that truly matters is "kill, or be killed." In order to survive, he must become the most powerful, cunning acolyte in the Academy, and earn his place as the apprentice to a powerful Sith Lord. Everything is going to plan- until he encounters a fiery, strong-willed Jedi prisoner.
Relationships: Caleb Dume/Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21
Collections: Kanera: AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's the SWTOR/Star Wars Rebels AU crossover mess literally no one asked for! Anyway, I've been enjoying this a lot. We'll see how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is a lot of set-up, but it's vital to get the gist of who this version of Caleb/Kanan is.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

The Sith Empire tightens its grip on the galaxy. The

Galactic Republic and its Jedi defenders lie weakened and

vulnerable after the Empire's successful military campaign.

With a fragile peace negotiated, the Empire sends all potential

Sith to undergo cruel and deadly training at its Academy on

the harsh planet KORRIBAN. Today, one of the Empire's

most promising young warriors has been secretly summoned

by an influential overseer to face the dark side trials much sooner than expected....

Korriban, sacred planet of the Sith Order, 3643 BBY

An Imperial shuttle streaked across the hazy citrine sky, mirrored by its undulating shadow crossing the sand dunes below as it sped toward the Valley of the Dark Lords. Korriban’s red star, Horuset, sat low on the horizon, casting long shadows on the tombs of the greatest Sith masters. At the far end of the valley, the Sith Academy’s towering pyramid of stone loomed. The shuttle slowed as it approached the Academy’s landing platform, the thrusters creating eddies of engine-clogging sand amid the jagged ochre cliffs and enormous, ancient, crumbling statues. As the shuttle settled onto the platform, the wings lifted into their perpendicular landing configuration.

The hatch opened, and a lone passenger disembarked the vessel, his boot heels ringing on the ship’s durasteel ramp. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the athletic, sinewy build of a man who spent a great deal of his time training his body for battle. The vibroblade strapped across his back merely underscored the fact that this was a warrior acolyte, revered within the Sith Order for their raw physicality and strength in the Force.

He wore his hair long but neatly tied back, and his beard was trimmed and tidy. He was young- no more than twenty-two standard years old. As he sauntered across the landing platform, his countenance and bearing strongly suggested confidence that bordered on outright arrogance. Overseer Tremel was unbothered. Arrogance was hardly a unique quality among the Sith, after all- it was to be expected, especially in one so young and powerful. He had heard a great deal about this particular acolyte- but whether he could handle the rigors of the Academy remained to be seen.

"At last, you’ve arrived. Welcome to Korriban, Acolyte Dume," he said. “I’m Overseer Tremel. For decades, I’ve trained acolytes and made them worthy to join the Sith Order. The harsh training techniques you will face are designed to weed out the weak. Those who come to Korriban for instruction either survive and become Sith, or die.”

The acolyte smirked, but his teal eyes gave away nothing. “I think I’ll take the first option,” he said.

“I didn’t summon you here for levity.” Tremel turned abruptly away from the young hopeful and walked toward the entrance to the Academy, forcing Dume to jog to catch up with him. Once inside the hangar, Tremel turned to face the younger man, giving him a hard, appraising look. “You survived your trial in the tomb of Marka Ragnos. The beast is slain- a feat beyond the skill of so many acolytes who came before you. And, yes, you are here, and ahead of schedule- because of me. I expect you to obey. If you follow instruction, push yourself beyond your physical limits in training, and serve me- I will make you the most powerful acolyte here.” 

Dume raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Talk is cheap.”

“You are a man of action, I see. Good. Yes, go on- have a critical edge. It will serve you well here- until you prove yourself, you will find enemies at every turn. But recognize who is on your side,” Tremel advised. “The training itself is difficult enough, but it is hardly the greatest threat you face. There’s an acolyte here named Vemren. He’s your enemy, and he will try to kill you. We must prepare you.”

The acolyte let out a short, humorless chuckle. “I just got here. How can I already have an enemy?”

“All you need to know is that you are a threat to him, and he to you. We’ll make sure you can stand up to that threat. Considering all I’ve heard of you, I expect my efforts will be rewarded- and, if you do your part, your efforts will be rewarded, too- handsomely rewarded. Now, let’s move on, shall we? That practice sword you’ve arrived with is insufficient- the blade of lesser acolytes. Ordinarily, acolytes aren’t given a proper lightsaber until they’re officially apprenticed to a Sith lord- but you need a dominating weapon. Go to the armory and choose an apprentice lightsaber. When you have made your choice, come to me in my chambers.”

“Just tell me where to go.”

Caleb Dume- sometimes Cal, to the people who thought they knew him best- found the cavernous, echoing space of the Sith Academy unsettling and oppressive. The unnaturally cold, dark gray stone walls seemed to absorb any light, and there was a relentless, low hum- whether from machine or man, he could not tell. Red lighting and accents only cast an ominous pall over the interior spaces. It was, however, a marked improvement on the spartan training center and grounds on icy Ziost, where he’d spent most of his life. As he made his way from the impressive armory to Tremel's office, he passed beautifully appointed rooms and Sith dressed in luxurious clothing and armor. He ought to have felt like he was moving up in the galaxy- or, at least, within the Sith Empire.

Instead, he only felt unease. His former masters on Ziost would have told him to use it, to channel every negative, worthless feeling into rage and hatred. After all, no Sith would ever admit to feeling uneasy. Fear, pain, emotional distress- those emotions were never discussed. They were _used_. The dark side was, for many Sith, a path to power for power’s sake. To Caleb, it was a tool.

He pushed his personal feelings aside as he entered the opulent antechamber to Tremel's office, the soles of his boots sinking into the soft, blood-red carpet. It was a good thing that the Sith Empire didn't lack for credits, considering that no expense was ever spared on anything the Order took a mind to build, create, or destroy.

“Hey,” a voice with an affected Core accent said. “Hold on a moment. Let me get a look at you.”

Caleb turned to see that two large, unpleasant-looking men in showy black armor had followed him into the antechamber. The larger of the two didn’t look very bright- clearly, he was the lackey- whereas the shorter one’s shrewd gaze and sneer made it all too clear who he must be.

“Dume, isn’t it? You’re Overseer Tremel’s secret weapon, eh? Impressive, to be sure. Afraid the old man waited too long to make his move, though.”

“You must be Vemren,” Caleb said, letting his tone convey exactly how bored he already was with the whole thing. The training grounds on Ziost had always been full of obnoxious acolytes just like Vemren, looking to prove themselves by trouncing the strongest warrior there- and for many years, that warrior had been him. None of them had ever succeeded, but it hadn’t stopped them from trying.

“Well, Vemren," he said, "this is a big place. There’s more than enough room here for both of us.”

Vemren's eyes flashed with irritation. “I’m glad to hear you say that. There’s plenty of room for you behind me. If Overseer Tremel had made his move a year ago, when I first arrived, you might’ve had a chance. But now- too little, too late.”

Vemren’s larger companion sighed deeply and said, “This is ridiculous, Vemren. Let’s just kill him and hide the body.”

“We’re not on Balmorra anymore, Dolgis,” Vemren said. “There are rules. Traditions. We’ll leave the shortcuts to Overseer Tremel and his latest pathetic hope, here.”

Caleb gave Vemren a patronizing smile. “You’re not very good with people, are you?”

“You’re not funny- just pathetic. And you’ve been warned,” Vemren replied, pointing a gloved finger at Caleb’s chest. He turned dramatically and stomped back toward the entrance, calling over his shoulder, “Coming, Dolgis?”

“Be right there,” Dolgis called back. As soon as Vemren was out of earshot, he glared at Caleb. “Listen to me, you useless womp-rat. Acolytes aren’t allowed to murder each other. But accidents happen. It isn’t murder without witnesses. No more warnings. Vemren’s the alpha monster around here. You go after Vemren, you die.”

Caleb wanted to laugh. Instead, he opted for a mock-serious expression. “Noted,” he said.

Dolgis was too much of an idiot to parse how little interest Caleb felt in any of this ridiculous posturing. He grunted and followed Vemren, and Caleb turned his attention to the task at hand: his meeting with Overseer Tremel. He walked to the open doorway and waited to be summoned. 

"Come in, Acolyte Dume," Tremel called.

Caleb walked into the room and stood in front of the Overseer's desk. The office, though beautifully decorated, was completely devoid of personal items.

“How do you like your new blade?” Tremel asked.

“The construction is solid. It’ll be a good weapon.”

Tremel nodded and said, “I thought I heard Vemren’s voice in the adjacent chamber before you arrived. Did he make his move so soon?

“He just introduced himself to me.” That was one way of putting it, anyway.

“I’d hoped we’d have more time. Vemren’s not the type to sniff around for too long before trying to take a bite. In a drive for sheer numbers, the criteria for academy admittance has been relaxed. Now anyone with Force sensitivity is allowed entrance. Vemren is mixed blood- the invisible rot eating away at the foundation of the Empire. He must not be allowed to advance. Unfortunately, Vemren’s caught the eye of Darth Baras, one of the most influential Sith Lords. He’s being groomed to be Baras’s new apprentice. As Darth Baras’s apprentice, the power at Vemren’s fingertips will be considerable. He could change the Sith for the worse.”

Caleb stared at Tremel in disbelief. " _That’s_ why you brought me here? Because Darth Baras might end up with an apprentice who doesn’t meet your approval? You're just an elitist snob."

The Overseer shrugged. "You say that like it's a bad thing. It’s the Sith way. Only the best, only the most pure, should be good enough. Would you be calling me an elitist if you weren't a pureblood yourself, and the ward of a noble family with proven Sith ancestry?"

This kind of rhetoric disgusted him and, in truth, it weakened the Empire. "True pureblood Sith are a dying race, Tremel,” he said. “The rest of us might have one or two Sith ancestors- a few drops of ‘pure’ blood, at most. It's nonsense. The so-called purity of my blood- the nobility and ancestry of the people who sponsored my training- those things don't define who I am."

"Maybe not, but there are many here on Korriban, and on Dromund Kaas, who will see it differently. You would do well to let them believe such things matter to you."

"They obviously matter to _you._ "

Tremel frowned. "What matters to me is that you take Vemren out of the equation. I told you- if you want to become the most powerful acolyte on Korriban, you serve me and follow my instructions to the letter."

“Yes, sir,” Caleb said. It seemed that, for the moment, he’d have to go along with what Tremel wanted from him.

Tremel looked pleased with the deferential tone. “When Baras arrives on Korriban and catches wind of you,” he said, “it’s going to be my neck on the line as much as yours.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m interfering in his plans. I brought an acolyte into the academy who has the potential to upset a lot of carefully laid plans.”

“There wouldn’t be any point to me asking what those plans are, would there?” Caleb asked. It was always better to know who was plotting against you, after all.

“You’ve got enough to worry about, between Vemren and your studies. You had better attend to the latter while you keep an eye out for the former. You’re dismissed, acolyte.”

Caleb left Tremel’s office, turning everything over in his mind. He had his own plans to worry about, too. 

The days sped by within the walls of the Academy. His training on Korriban wasn’t much different than it had been on icy Ziost- as the ward of a wealthy noble family, Caleb had been taught by some of the most demanding, exacting masters in the Order. He was used to the long, punishing hours of practice, and the brutal sparring sessions that frequently ended in injury- and, for some, even death. Classroom instruction wasn’t new to him, either. The most significant difference between Ziost and the Academy was the expansive archive, and he had unrestricted access to all the information contained within it. Any spare time he had away from his training was spent there. Unlike most of his fellow warrior acolytes, Caleb understood that _true_ power was knowledge, and it was the only kind of power he craved. So much so that, despite his loathing of the Jedi, he would have given anything to spend just a few hours in their massive archive on Tython.

Meanwhile, the other acolytes kept their distance, but he was watched closely- and none watched him more closely than Vemren’s lackey, Dolgis. It seemed that Vemren was keeping him in check, for the time being. Caleb wasn’t bothered by it. Any Sith acolyte worth his salt made watching his own back second nature- no one else was going to do it.

Two standard weeks had gone by when he was once again summoned to Overseer Tremel’s office- this time, to review his most recent trial in the prison wing.

“Your training is proceeding as I’d hoped. Your instructors are very pleased with your performance,” Tremel told him. He seemed on edge about something, and he was covering for it by making idle conversation- a stalling tactic that exactly no one in the galaxy enjoyed.

Caleb shrugged. “I’m a quick learner.”

“Indeed. Well, on to the business at hand, I suppose: your test in the jails. First, the assassin, Solentz. She attempted to kill an Imperial spy but was unaware of her client’s Republic affiliation. You assigned her to Imperial Intelligence. I commend you- that was excellent thinking. Never waste a potential resource.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tremel eyed him for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to reprimand him for his flippant tone. Instead, the Overseer gave him a withering look and moved on. “Now, the failed warrior, Devotek. He begged you to let him die fighting. You gave him a weapon and, of course, easily defeated him. Why?”

“He served the Empire for over twenty years. For his years of service, he deserved a warrior’s death.”

“You should have just killed him,” Tremel said, displeased. “You wasted your time fighting an unworthy opponent who didn’t deserve your effort. Devotek was an utter waste of space. Once something is no longer useful, it should be immediately eradicated.”

Caleb stared at him and said nothing. There was no point in disagreeing, but he felt neither guilt nor shame in his decision.

“Now, the last prisoner- the forger. Letting him go was highly questionable. Explain yourself.”

“It was obvious that he was innocent of the charges, and it’s a waste of time to torture an innocent man.”

Tremel frowned. “Innocent or not, he leaves here with first-hand knowledge of our facilities and procedures. It’s potentially compromising to have him floating about the galaxy. You must always be thinking, and considering every angle. Aside from a strong and skilled sword arm, that will be what impresses Darth Baras the most. You’re beginning to understand what it means to be Sith, but you’re far from being able to impress Baras.”

“I’m not worried about impressing him,” Caleb said. It wasn’t strictly true, of course, but no one needed to know that.

“Impress him...or die. Those are really the only choices you have. Because I forced you into the Academy ahead of schedule, Baras will be very predisposed to judging you severely. And by severely, I mean _fatally_. Unfortunately, our time is up. Baras has become aware of you. He just arrived from Dromund Kaas, and he demands an audience.”

The reason for Tremel’s anxiety suddenly became clear. “Lucky me,” Caleb said. “What should I expect?”

“He is a serious man but a master of deception. Everything he does and says is calculated. He will attempt to trip you up, test your nature, get to the heart of who you are. Always take him seriously- and I mean _always_.”

“You worry too much, Tremel.”

“I just wish we’d had a little more time. We might not speak again, acolyte. You’re the best chance of stopping Vemren. If you fail, I doubt there will be another strong enough. Meet Darth Baras in his chambers. And hurry- he won’t take kindly to waiting.”

Baras’s chambers were on the Academy’s second level, and Caleb made his way there at a leisurely pace, just to spite Tremel. Baras might also be annoyed by the tardiness, and that was ideal. He knew Darth Baras by reputation, of course- all Sith knew him. Baras had been steadily climbing the ranks of the Order for years and was among the most well-known Sith Lords. But Caleb had also collected every available bit of information on Baras- not to mention quite a few details that weren’t so readily available knowledge, cajoled from the lips of the servants and slaves who had been pressed into the Sith lord’s service. This information, when considered as a whole, painted a picture of a very ambitious man full of ruthlessness and cunning. Tremel’s description of him had been spot-on, but even he didn’t know everything about Darth Baras.

Caleb strode into Baras’s chambers without bothering to spare a glance at the guards. He was, after all, expected. The man himself was holding court at an enormous desk, berating a small group of acolytes that included Vemren. He was a large man, somewhat portly, wearing elaborate hand-crafted armor and an equally elaborate mask that, as far as Caleb had been able to glean, served no real purpose. Like many Sith, Baras felt it was important to look the part.

Caleb leaned against a stone pillar with his arms crossed, amused at Vemren’s rapt attention and a smug expression.

“The lot of you would do well to take your cues from Vemren,” Baras was saying. “Don’t disappoint me again. Dismissed!”

The small group of acolytes filed out, and most of them only glanced at him as they passed- but not Vemren.

“What are you looking at?” he demanded, black eyes glittering.

“Really? You’re just going to set yourself up to be insulted like that? You’re a disappointing rival, Vemren,” Caleb replied.

“You won’t find me so disappointing when I remove your head from your neck.”

Caleb gave him a patronizing smile and said, “Not if I take yours off first.”

“I seem to recall dismissing you, Vemren,” Baras boomed from behind his desk.

“Yes, my Lord.” Vemren shot one last glare at Caleb and stalked toward the antechamber’s entrance.

Baras stood regarding him for a moment. “Are you having trouble with the acolyte Vemren, supplicant?”

“It seems that way,” Caleb said with a shrug. “I’m not sure why he’s so bothered by me.”

“And why shouldn’t he be? Vemren has paid his dues. He’s fought a deck stacked against him to get here. You, on the other hand, have had every advantage. Overseer Tremel has done you and this Academy a great disservice. Your lightsaber came early, prisoners flown in for your convenience. The pacing of the trials is _deliberate_. Only full immersion over time produces results. Your mind is soft, unhoned, undisciplined.”

Caleb was unbothered by the disparaging comments, which were so obviously false. “Can’t say I agree with that assessment,” he said.

Baras went on as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “The first month of trials should be dedicated to philosophy, conceptual tactics, understanding of the Sith Code. Recite the Sith Code for me, acolyte, and explain its meaning in battle, war and politics.”

Caleb knew the Sith Code, of course. But why dispel Baras’s notion that he was an idiot? “The only code I need to know is ‘kill, or be killed’,” he said.

Baras made an irritated noise behind his mask. “Your ability is undeniable. But your readiness and understanding of the Sith way is woefully lacking. I am your master now. Tremel was becoming lax before you ever arrived. His unwillingness to adapt to the evolving Sith paradigm has become a liability. These are the actions of a traitor, and traitors are executed. I grant you immunity from punishment: kill Tremel and bring back his hand as proof.”

“I don’t like the idea of killing him.” This was true. Tremel was an elitist, yes- but it was almost a certainty that some much more egregious offense had been committed within the walls of the Academy within the past five minutes. Tremel’s offense was minor in comparison to a lot of what went on in any Sith training facility.

“I do not make requests, supplicant. Now, leave. I’m sure Tremel is still in his chambers. Don’t return until you’ve killed him.”

Caleb nodded and turned away, feeling a bit like a murderous errand boy. In fact, that was exactly what he was- a pawn, first in Tremel’s game, and now in Baras’s. His whole life, the only thing he’d ever truly been was a pawn- but that was going to change.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Tremel said, looking genuinely surprised. “Has Baras sent you back to me?”

“Baras ordered me to kill you.” Caleb said it in a matter-of-fact tone.

Tremel shook his head. “Then I have been outplayed. Baras has the authority, but I did not think he would do something this overt. Either I die, or he forces me to kill you and to destroy my own pawn. A masterstroke. Very well. You have your orders, acolyte. Know that it gives me no pleasure to kill you.”

 _Funny that this old man thinks he’s going to kill me_. “It doesn’t have to come to this, Tremel.”

“Don’t hedge, now. This is the way of the Sith. I’ll try to make your death quick and painless. It’s the least I can do.”

Tremel unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and thumbed the switch. Caleb, who had the advantage of youthful speed, had his saber in hand and ignited before Tremel even got his own weapon unclipped. Tremel swung again and again, trying a different, often complex attack each time, and Caleb parried each onslaught with barely any effort. His self-taught defensive skills came in handy- he did not particularly want to harm Tremel. Eventually, the old man gave up, panting.

“I knew you were strong in the Force,” he said, “but not...like this. You’re more than ready to challenge Vemren. Baras won’t be able to deny that now. He’ll have the satisfaction of my death, but I die knowing my...success. Go ahead...end this.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tremel. I only need your hand.”

Tremel looked confused. “What? Wait...I think I understand. Baras demands my hand as proof of my death? I don’t want your pity, acolyte.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, you’re not getting my pity. All I need is your hand. That's the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“I’m a credit to the dark side...my cause is just. You can see clearly, even if Baras cannot.”

 _Whatever you say,_ Caleb thought. Aloud, he said, “Do you want me to cut that hand off, or are you going to do it yourself?”

Tremels answer was to raise his still-lit lightsaber and bring the red blade down upon his own non-dominant wrist. His skin sizzled on contact, and the blade sliced easily through tissue and bone, cauterizing the vessels as it went. The hand fell to the floor with a sickening smack. To his credit, Tremel did not cry out, but his jaw was clenched, and Caleb saw agony in his amber eyes.

“I’ll rest and then leave Korriban...covertly,” he rasped.

“Do what you need to do. Just make sure you keep quiet about this, or I’ll find you and finish the job,” Caleb said. “And put that hand in a box or something, will you?”

Caleb left Tremel in his chambers and returned to Baras. He tried not to think too deeply about why he had chosen to defy a powerful Sith lord on the very first task he was given, preferring to see it as a test of his mettle. Subterfuge, lies, manipulation- these were the tools of a Sith. What he had told Baras was true- he didn’t need a code beyond “kill, or be killed”- and being killed certainly wasn’t the preferred option. Which meant, of course, that he’d have to be the one to do the killing. But even a Sith could have principles- and being a Sith with principles required becoming a master of deception. Physical strength, years of relentless combat training, even a strong connection to the Force- none of those things mattered if he couldn’t stay a few steps ahead of someone like Darth Baras.

“The prodigal supplicant returns,” Baras said, upon seeing Caleb enter his chambers. He opened the proffered plain wooden box into which Tremel had placed his own hand. “And with the hand of the traitor Tremel. Superb. I am impressed that you had the fortitude to destroy him. How did it feel to betray him?”

“I did what was called for,” Caleb said in a calm, even tone.

“You mask your feelings well...but don’t suppress them. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, we gain strength. Through strength, we gain power. Through power, we gain victory. Through victory, our chains are broken. The Force shall set us free. By embracing the Code and destroying Tremel, you have freed yourself from his shackles and escaped his fate.”

“Different master, same fate. Now I’m bound by _your_ shackles.”

“You’ll find they are a marked improvement, with much greater potential range.” To one of his personal guards, he said, “Fetch the acolyte Vemren from my antechamber.”

In a moment, Vemren appeared, looking eager. Caleb paid no attention, keeping his eyes focused on Baras.

“And now,” Baras said, “we will settle which one of you will become my apprentice. I thought it would be you, Vemren, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“What?” Vemren spluttered, more shocked than he was angry. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked, better than the others! The honor should be mine!”

Caleb couldn’t resist- he turned to look at Vemren with a smirk on his face. “You forgot to stomp your foot. Go ahead- throw yourself on the floor, Vemren. Kick and scream. Really go for it. I’m sure a temper tantrum will change Lord Baras’s mind.”

“Enough with your childish antics- both of you,” Baras growled. “Today, Vemren is every bit your equal, Acolyte Dume. But the Force is stronger with you, and there is a power sleeping within you. It was a simple decision,” Baras said. “Now, Vemren, go wait in my antechamber for your instructions. This instant!”

Vemren shot a venomous look at Caleb, but otherwise silently did as he was told.

Baras turned to look at Caleb. The overhead lights glinted off his intricately detailed mask, revealing nothing. “Now,” he said, “I hope you fathom how fortunate you are to be singled out. As my apprentice, the galaxy will bend before you. But first, you need a starship worthy of your position. Go to the hangar- there you will find a _Fury_ -class Interceptor waiting for you, fully outfitted, of course.”

Caleb inclined his head to show deference and gratitude, although he did not feel it. “Thank you, my Lord.” He waited to be dismissed, but Baras remained silent. Caleb could sense that he was weighing a decision in his mind.

The Sith Lord clasped his gloved hands behind his back. “There is one more thing.”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Before you proceed to the hangar, I have a small task for you.”

Caleb felt a flash of exasperation- he wished the old man would get to the point. He waited.

“We recently acquired a new prisoner,” Baras said. “You will go to the prison wing and interrogate this prisoner.”

“Who is the prisoner?”

“A Jedi.”

Caleb raised his eyebrows. “A Jedi? On Korriban?”

“Yes. It has happened before, but it is unusual. They seek to gain an advantage by learning about what we do here.”

“Why me? Surely the inquisitors-”

“You must learn the nature of your enemy before you can face him in combat. Find out what the Jedi knows- if you can. Now, go.”

Caleb inclined his head again. “Yes, Master.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've played SWTOR, you'll probably recognize that a lot of this chapter pretty closely follows the Sith warrior storyline. That's exactly where I got the idea for it. If you haven't played SWTOR, the specific storyline that inspired me was that of a light-sided Sith (you can choose which side to align with, in the game). Other storylines also have Sith who are...more principled than the average, and who on occasion make inroads with Jedi or actually join a Jedi on her quest. There are even Sith who turn to the light and become Jedi. So, as I was playing, I started thinking about Kanan as the warrior and Hera (sort of) in the Vette role (for non-players, Vette is a Twi'lek prisoner who joins the warrior's crew and can become a romantic companion). I think you've probably figured out who the Jedi is by now, and that's always been something I've wanted to do. It's not remotely the same kind of stretch that writing Kanan as a Sith has been. It was really difficult for me to even envision Kanan this way because he really just doesn't have a dark-sided bone in his noodle body. But the challenge was too enticing, and I came up with a backstory for him that resonates, makes sense to me, and stays true in many ways to the canon version of the character. So...we'll see if it works. I initially thought of it as an "enemies to lovers" story, but it's evolved into something more along the lines of "Romeo and Juliet" (but without the dying- I will never kill either one of them). The title is a R&J reference: 
> 
> "I am no pilot. Yet, wert thou as far  
> As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea,  
> I would adventure for such merchandise."
> 
> Or, if you prefer a more modern take that modifies the somewhat iffy "merchandise":
> 
> "I’m not a sailor, but if you were across the farthest sea, I would risk everything to gain you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture. This is your standard Star Wars torture, nothing more graphic than what you saw in...well, pretty much every Star Wars film and TV series (THEY'RE FOR KIDS!).

Head Jailer Knash, the bald, bearded man who oversaw the cells and slave pits in the prison wing, didn't look surprised to see him. They were, unfortunately, already acquainted- Knash had been present during Caleb's trial with the three prisoners.

"Back for more, eh?" Knash chuckled.

Caleb gave him an irritated look.

The head jailer's smile faded, and he cleared his throat. "Right. Lord Baras said you're to interrogate the Jedi."

"That's right."

"Well, there she is," Knash said, pointing to a cell enclosed by a red force field.

 _She_. He turned to look. A Twi'lek with jade-green skin was kneeling on the floor of the cell with her head bowed, meditating. She wore beige robes typical of a Jedi, and a simple, unadorned headpiece. Her lekku were covered with an unusual pattern of white, curved lines and circles. Even though he couldn't truly see her face, there was something... _familiar_ about her, about this scene. He felt himself turn fully away from the jailer and walk toward her cell as if pulled by the Force itself.

He halted when he was close enough to feel the peculiar zing of the cell's force field and stared down at her, struggling to place the sense of deja vu he felt. Several seconds went by- and then she raised her head.

Bright green eyes flecked with gold met his.

Her face was beautiful- heart-shaped with a small, determined chin, full lips, and high cheekbones- and he was shocked to realize that he'd seen it before. The memory was hazy- a vision, when he was just a child- but he'd remembered her face for a very long time. Until, eventually, it had been buried under the brutal business of becoming an acolyte of the Sith.

For a moment that lasted longer than most moments usually do, they stared at each other as the cell's force field intermittently hummed and sizzled between them. He saw surprise in her eyes, and confusion- and then she remembered who and what she was looking at, and her expression filled with loathing. For his part, Caleb stood rooted to the spot, unable to pull his eyes away from her as he desperately tried to recover the vision in which he'd first seen her face, so many years before.

It was a pointless endeavor. There was nothing to recall- only her face. "What's your name, Jedi?" he asked.

"What's yours, _Sith_?" she shot back.

She had a melodious, intoxicating voice- or rather, she would have if it hadn't been acidic with hatred. He could sense that her will was strong- despite her weakened state, she radiated strength in the Force, and there was no fear in her. Sith acolytes were taught from a young age to revere strength and power above all else, and he could not help but respond to hers. The sudden attraction he felt to this greatest of foes was powerful...and perilous.

Nevertheless, he was determined that she would not see it. "Getting that information is simple," he told her. "But I'd rather hear you say it."

Her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I would do _anything_ to make your job easier?"

 _My job._ He gave her a grim smile as he held out his hand and snapped his fingers impatiently at Jailer Knash.

"Give me your datapad," he ordered, not bothering to look at the man.

Knash hastily handed it to him, and Caleb logged in with his own credentials, which gave him access to all the information on high-level prisoners. He skimmed the information quickly. "Hera Syndulla. Recently elevated to the rank of Jedi Knight," he said, raising his eyes to meet hers. "You're younger than average, to have passed the trials and attained that rank. You must be a very talented Jedi. Or...maybe it's just a matter of desperate times calling for desperate measures?"

She scowled.

"How did you end up in this cell?" he asked.

She sighed and pressed her fingertips to the floor, pushing off and getting to her feet. She was taller than the average female Twi'lek, slim and graceful. "Like I've told everyone else who's asked me that same pointless question, I was doing aerial recon. I was unaware that the Empire had managed to create a functional ion cannon."

"It's a prototype. How could you possibly have known?"

"Gathering intel on new weapons is one of the purposes of aerial recon." She spoke as if explaining something very obvious to someone very stupid.

"Unless that new weapon gathers intel on you first, eh? Your ship must have dropped like a crate full of duracrete blocks. How are you still alive?"

"I...managed to land."

"Did you? I'm impressed."

She rolled her eyes. "And here I was worried that I'd never manage to impress a Sith."

"It takes quite a pilot to land a ship that's been hit by a blast from an ion cannon within a planet's atmosphere. That's impressive, even for a Jedi."

Another, less pronounced eye roll. "Is listening to you talk supposed to be part of the torture?" she asked. "Because if so, I'm willing to admit it- this is a surprisingly effective twist. I really didn't expect you to come in here and try to bore me to death. But if you don't mind, I'd prefer to go back to regular old physical pain. I'll take one of those Inquisitors over this dull conversation any day."

Finally caught off-guard, Caleb had to struggle to maintain his composure for a second. Her sense of humor- particularly in the midst of her predicament- was surprising, to say the least. He'd had little experience with Jedi, but he had studied them extensively, and they'd always seemed so earnest, so serious, so tediously virtuous. The last thing he'd expected was a beautiful, fiery Twi'lek with a sense of humor.

"I think you'll find that I have a much sunnier disposition than any of the Inquisitors," he said.

Clearly not one to miss a beat, she smirked and said, "That's a low bar to clear. What are you, if you're not an Inquisitor?"

"A warrior," he said. "Apprenticed to a Sith lord."

"An _apprentice_. That's adorable," she said in a mocking tone. "Was it your master who told you to bore the information out of me? Or did you just come up with that particular tactic all on your own?"

"Ordinary torture is so uncivilized," he said, with a shrug.

She planted her fists on her hips and raised one eyebrow. "Well, we agree on one thing, then. You're wasting your time, Sith. I'll never tell you anything."

He had no doubt that she spoke the truth. Her will was so strong that he was certain no amount of "ordinary" torture could ever break her, even if he'd been remotely inclined to administer it. But what _would_ make her talk? Baras clearly wanted more from the situation than Caleb was willing to give him.

The Jedi crossed her arms and fixed him with a disgusted stare and, for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be in her favor- to be someone she cared for- to feel her loving gaze, like the warmth of a sun.

He took a deep breath, meeting her stare as an insane, deeply stupid plan began to form in his mind. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jedi," he said, turning away from her.

"That's it?" he heard her say. She almost sounded disappointed.

He stepped close to Head Jailer Knash and shoved the datapad into his hands, speaking in a low, threatening tone: "No one touches her until I return."

"Yes, my Lord," Knash said, leaning away from Caleb as much as he dared. His fear was palpable; no doubt he was recalling the fight he'd witnessed between Caleb and the failed warrior Devotek.

Caleb strode out of the detention center without looking back, his mind already turning over the details of a very ill-conceived plan that would surely get him killed.

The next day, as promised, he returned to the jail. He had slept very poorly the night before, thrashing around in his bunk, unable to push the Jedi's face from his mind. As a boy, her face had haunted him for years- and it haunted him again now. Who was she, really? And why did she have to be a Jedi, of all people? Why couldn't he remember anything from the vision, other than her face? 

When his feet hit the floor beneath his bunk, the decision was already made. It was stupid, risky- probably deadly- but he could see no other way. It was what had to be done- he'd never been more certain of anything in his life. So why, then, did he feel so unsettled and aggravated by the entire situation?

It did not improve his mood to find, upon entering the detention area, that the Jedi he'd expressly forbidden Knash to touch was strapped to an interrogation table, shrieking in pain.

She had been moved to a larger cell specifically designed for torture. The cell's force field had been turned off; the interrogation table itself bound her with a low-level but still-painful energy running through the thick clamps around her wrists and ankles. A few of the other jailers loitered nearby, apparently enjoying the show.

Knash stood at the control console, observing her as if she were a particularly fascinating experiment. "Let's turn up the juice and see how well you do, shall we, Jedi?" he said, with a cruel laugh.

Caleb stalked toward them, furious, as Knash hit her with a bolt of electricity that danced across her arms and torso. She convulsed and screamed- and Caleb's vision tunneled in rage. Knash saw him coming and backed up against the console, his eyes full of fear. Caleb hardly registered his own hand grabbing the jailer by the scruff of his neck.

" _Leave_ ," he heard himself growl.

"My Lord, please! I was only acting on the orders of Darth Baras, I swear!" the jailer yelped.

He let go of the man, but he did not check the menace in his face or tone. "I said _leave."_

"Yes, my Lord," the jailer said, backing away.

"All of you, get out!" he bellowed, watching with satisfaction as the jailers scurried back to their filthy little corners.

Caleb glanced at the Jedi; she was staring at him with a guarded, deeply suspicious expression on her face. He tore himself away from her gaze and turned to the console that controlled the interrogation table and the cell itself, flipping a few switches while he calculated how much risk he'd just brought upon himself by helping her. The answer was, undoubtedly, "a _significant_ amount of risk."

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Turning off the energy in those bindings, and the surveillance for this cell." One last switch, and isolation walls emerged from the floor, enclosing the cell completely. The utilization of long-term isolation was a particularly cruel practice and, fortunately, most Sith lacked the patience for it. Nevertheless, Caleb felt a brief flash of gratitude for the existence of the soundproof walls.

The Jedi watched the walls go up around them, and then she sighed, resigned. "You might as well just kill me and get it over with. I won't tell you anything, no matter how horribly you torture me."

"You've got it wrong," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"You really think I stopped that piece of rancor fodder from torturing you just so I could do it myself?" He turned to look at her, shaking his head. "I just want to talk to you."

Her eyes fixed on him. "What makes you think I want to talk to _you_?"

"You're talking to me right now."

Her expression shifted from wary to annoyed. "Whatever it is you want from me, Sith...you won't get it."

"Look," he said, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a gusty sigh. A few more words, and there would be no going back. He looked into her eyes and dropped his guard, just a little. Just enough for her to be able to sense his sincerity. "I...I think I can get you out of here. It's not a perfect plan, but it's better than the alternative."

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Did you _really_ expect me to fall for that? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Well, the answer to that question depends on whether you think it's better to rot in this cell until they torture you to death, or if you're willing to hear me out."

"I'm not interested in your lies. Just kill me and be done with it."

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already."

"Well, _whatever_ it is you really want, you're wasting your time," she said, lifting her chin.

"So you keep saying. You're a Jedi- use the Force. Do you sense any deception in me?" he asked.

Those green eyes settled on his face, full of suspicion. A frown creased her brow- and when she sensed nothing untoward in him, her frown deepened into a scowl.

"Well? What's the matter?" he asked. "You don't trust the Force? I thought that was a big Jedi thing, trusting in the Force."

She glowered at him. "Yes, of _course_ I trust the Force. But I _don't_ trust the Sith and their lies."

"I'm not lying," he said, letting out a beleaguered sigh. "Just...hear me out."

Her jaw clenched. "What choice do I have? I'm literally a captive audience, aren't I? Just say whatever it is you're going to say and then get out of my cell."

"Thank you," he said, trying to tamp down his rising irritation. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do- he didn't have to _completely_ earn her trust, after all. "I think I can get my master to agree to release you into my custody. It's not freedom, but...it's better than this."

"No," she said.

The strength he'd so admired in her was becoming exasperating. "No? You'd rather rot in this cell until you die, is that it? Because that's what will happen to you."

"I know that." She stared at a point just past his shoulder.

"So why not take the option that saves your skin?"

"I don't trust you."

"And I don't blame you," he said. "But you can either die in this cell, or you can take a gamble that I'm not lying and live to fight another day. You have my word that I'll get you back to the Jedi at the earliest opportunity."

Her eyes met his again, her lip curled in a sneer. "What's the word of a Sith worth? Besides, a Sith would never risk his neck for a Jedi- what you're talking about _has_ to be treason."

"It is."

His response pulled her up short. The look in her eyes was an odd mixture of incredulity and curiosity and deep mistrust. "They'll kill you," she said.

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you risk your life that way? Why would a Sith put anyone's life before his own?"

He wondered that, himself. Had he lost his mind? Was he really going to risk his life for a pretty face? But, deep down, he knew it was more than that. _She_ was more than that. The vision of her that he'd seen as a boy, the way he was drawn to her- he needed to know what it all meant.

"You need my help, don't you? It doesn't matter why," he said.

She pursed her lips- it was an unsatisfactory response. "All right, fine. Let's say you're telling the truth. What's the catch? Why would being in your... _custody_ be any better than being in this cell?"

"Well, to begin with, I won't torture you."

"I thought we had already established that I find talking to you to be pretty torturous."

"Don't talk to me, then."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Sith. What's the catch?"

He sighed- she was right, of course. There were a few catches. "You'll have to stay aboard my ship," he told her. "You can't try to escape. You can't attack me or try to kill me. And you'll have to be patient- I can't just immediately release you to the Jedi. It has to look believable- because if it doesn't, I'm dead."

"And I should care about that because..?"

"Because you're _not_ a Sith," he reminded her. "You're a Jedi. And a Jedi would never hurt someone who's trying to help her, even if he's her worst enemy. Right? Isn't that how it works?"

She stared at him for a long moment with fury simmering in the depths of her eyes. "You don't know a thing about the Jedi," she murmured.

"Are you saying that I'm wrong, then? Do Jedi usually try to kill the people who help them?"

"Why are you even acting like I have a choice in this?" she demanded. "You can just take me out of this cell and onto your ship if you want to, whether or not I agree to it."

"I'd prefer to have your full cooperation. It'll make things a lot easier," he said. "Look, we're out of time. The longer I stay here with the surveillance turned off and the walls up, the more suspicious it becomes. I'll be back to get you out of here. You have some time to think about it, and if you decide that you're better off dying in a cell on Korriban, I won't force you to leave," he said. "In the meantime, no one will touch you. I'll make sure of it this time."

She looked confused. "This time?"

"I have to go," he said, flipping the switch that retracted the walls, and then he looked at her again. "I'll be back."

She- Hera- returned his gaze, and there was uncertainty in her eyes. She nodded.

He left her there, still bound to the table, and turned on the red force field around her cell. Knash saw him coming and, to his credit, stood his ground even when Caleb called his lightsaber into his hand.

"You will not touch her on _anyone's_ orders," he growled. "Do you understand?"

Knash threw up his hands in a gesture of supplication. "My Lord, I understand if you've taken a fancy to the Jedi, but I can't go against Lord Baras-"

"You can and you will go against anyone who orders you to harm that prisoner again, because if you don't, I'll kill you myself," Caleb said. "I'll handle Baras. You just see to it that the Jedi isn't harmed again."

"Yes, my Lord. You have my word- she won't be harmed."

"How is your interrogation of the Jedi progressing? Have you broken her yet?"

Baras was pacing behind his massive stone desk, and the creaking of his extravagant armor was getting on Caleb's last nerve. Surely he knew most of what had transpired in the detention area, which meant that he was playing a game of cat and mouse with his new apprentice. While it was not wholly unexpected, it _was_ irritating.

"She's strong with the Force," Caleb said. "I don't believe she can be broken with mere torture."

Baras continued his measured pacing. "Perhaps we should try something more persuasive. That is, unless you have a better idea, Apprentice."

Caleb stared at him, not wanting to know what 'something more persuasive' might be. "Yes," he said. "I have an idea that I think might work, based on what I've seen of her behavior. Allow me to assume custody of the Jedi, Master."

Baras stopped pacing. "For what purpose?"

"I believe the key to breaking this Jedi involves gaining her trust. If I can manipulate her into trusting me, I can use her to our advantage."

"Do not underestimate the Jedi," Baras said, turning to face him. "They are not simpletons; she will expect a trap."

"Of course she will. But what better choice does she have? She can stay in that cell until she succumbs to torture, or she can take her chances in my custody."

"We do not have the time to wait for you to gain her trust- assuming such a thing is even possible."

Caleb forced himself to feel nothing but confidence. "I believe the time and effort involved could yield much better results than torture, Master. And, ultimately, she could be turned to the dark side- she would be an asset, with her knowledge of the Jedi and her strength in the Force."

Darth Baras was silent for a moment, considering- or pretending to consider. "The Jedi _do_ hate it when they lose one to our ranks," he said. "That pleases me. How do you plan to keep her in line? If she is not confined to a holding cell specifically designed for a Jedi, she will escape your clutches quickly."

"Leave that to me."

"Very well," Baras agreed. "But I will expect results- and the Jedi shall be eliminated if she becomes too much of a problem. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Heed my warning, Apprentice. The Jedi are not the kind, compassionate heroes they pretend to be. She will end your life to attain her freedom, given half the chance. Or, worse, she will turn _you_. Be vigilant."

"Do you think I'm so weak that I would allow her to manipulate me?"

"The power that I spoke of, sleeping within you- only when it is unleashed will we know what you are truly capable of," Baras said.

Caleb forced himself not to sigh in exasperation. "That's...cryptic," he said.

Baras ignored his comment, saying, "Keep the Jedi aboard your ship. Use whatever means are required to contain and control her- I will have Jailer Knash fit her with a shock collar and manacles for transport to your vessel. I will be in contact soon; we have much to do. Now, go."

Caleb gave Baras a nod of assent, and then he turned to go, relieved to be released from the oppressive presence of his master.

When he reached the detention area, he found that the Jedi had already been outfitted as promised by Baras. She looked angry enough to bite the wing off of a starship, and he didn't want to think about how Knash had gotten the shock collar and manacles on her. He hoped she'd been cooperative.

Knash, looking wary, handed him the small devices used to control the shock collar and manacles. "Watch out for that one," he said, shooting her a dark look.

"Thanks for the tip," Caleb said flatly. "Where's her weapon?"

"My Lord?"

"Her lightsaber. Where is it?"

"Lord Baras wants it kept-"

"Bring it to me," Caleb said. "Now."

Knash nodded and scurried away. Caleb walked toward the Jedi's cell.

They stared at each other for a moment. "Well?" he asked. "What's it going to be?"

"Do I have a choice?" she demanded. "Because it doesn't seem like it."

"I meant what I said. Take it or leave it." His eyes never left her face, but he could sense that the decision was already made- and she was furious about it.

"Fine," she snarled. "Take it."

He nodded and turned away- Knash had returned, her weapon in hand. Caleb took it from him and tucked it safely inside his tunic.

"Shut the force field down," he said to Knash.

"Sir, perhaps-"

"Stop questioning every order I give you, Knash, or I'll let the Jedi do to you what you did to her."

"Yes, my Lord." Knash did as he was told, and the force field vanished.

Caleb gestured to the Jedi to move. "Let's go."

She cooperated, but she was still fuming. They walked side-by-side in silence down the corridor to the lift, and each Sith they passed looked at her with murderous eyes. He wondered if she realized that he was less afraid _of_ her than he was _for_ her. The sooner he got her away from the Academy, the better.

They got into the lift, alone. "We're going to leave Korriban on my ship," he said stiffly.

She looked at him but said nothing.

"It's a nice ship. You can have a hot shower and a meal- maybe it'll put you in a better mood."

"I doubt it," she grumbled.

It occurred to him then that it had been a very long time since he'd been kind to someone. Deference was second nature, but kindness? He had neither given nor received true kindness since he was a child- it was not the way of the Sith. He didn't really know what to do with this Jedi. And, oddly, being in close quarters with her caused another long-lost feeling to surface inside him: fear. He could have reached out and touched her cheek, and her closeness made him feel... _nervous_.

He heaved a sigh of relief when the lift doors opened. The sight of his ship calmed him- and, for the first time, the Jedi's eyes lit up with interest. She said nothing, but it was suddenly clear to him that starships, and the piloting of starships, were two things she loved. She studied it carefully as they traversed the distance between the lift and the ship's ramp.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

She turned to look at him and opened her mouth, momentarily forgetting her situation, but as soon as her eyes settled on his face, her mouth snapped shut and the fury in her eyes returned.

"Dume!" an angry voice yelled across the hangar.

Vemren. And, by his side as always, was Dolgis.

For the first time, Caleb dared to touch the Jedi, grabbing her elbow and hustling her up the ramp. She made a sound of protest, and then an even louder one as he shoved her through the hatch, closed the door, and locked it from the outside.

Once he knew she was safe, he turned and strode down the ramp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized after I finished writing this that I forgot to write about Caleb checking out his ship, which includes a C3P0-esque droid to cater to all his needs. In the game, this droid is VERY ingratiating and perky...basically the polar opposite of Chopper. Still, I think it's fair to say that Caleb has about as much patience for 2V-R8 as you might expect. The ship itself looks a lot like an overgrown TIE fighter, and the inside is pretty lux. I really enjoyed the part of the game where you get your ship (SWTOR is my favorite SW game, hands down, and I recommend it to anyone who wants to create OCs and experience an open-world format).  
> Beyond that, I don't have a lot to say about this chapter. You know these two are going to end up liking each other, but the fun part will be how they get there and what the consequences will be.


End file.
